A Fire Divine
by G.E Waldo
Summary: Summary: Love rages....*This will probably be the only FILK I will ever write. But this song fits W/H so well... "The Tea Party" is a Canadian rock alternative band who put out five outstanding CD's, and a couple so-so ones. Like all great things that co
1. Chapter 1

A FIRE DIVINE

By GeeLady /GeeLady

Summary: Love rages..._This will probably be the only FILK I will ever write. But this song fits W/H so well... ("The Tea Party" is a Canadian rock alternative band who put out five outstanding CD's, and a couple so-so ones. Like all great things that come to an end, they are split up. Jeff Martin was, IMHO the genius behind the band. A musical prodigy (musician, writer, singer, & total babe!!) who's rock music I miss terribly!)_

Pairings: Wilson/House & House/Cuddy (Cuddy-lite) Wilson/Amber (Amber-lite).

Rating: Slash. Good looking Male on Good looking Male. NC-17. Adult!

Based on the Song: _**Fire in the Head **__(The Edges of Twilight)_ By The Tea Party.

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_**You. Stay.**_

_**-**_

_**-**_

_**-**_

The sweat that broke out on the palms of his hands turned the steering wheel slippery and hard to grip.

Good thing he wasn't driving.

Torrential rain flooded the windshield, it's shifting liquid patterns altering the appearances of all things outside. The square brick building across the street warped into a living thing, twitching in the semi-darkness. A half moon tried and failed to glow brightly enough through the thick ground-level fog to dispel the feeling of gloom.

Despite the downpour Wilson had not worn a hat. He had, once, gotten rid of his umbrella and bought himself a nice Fedora style gentleman's hat. He'd sported it once on a day like today, to the race track with House, who commented that it made him look like Dick Tracy.

No more hat.

Amber, his girlfriend of three months and the woman he loved, thought he was working late. He wasn't but he told her that every four or five days or so. Two late nights a week away from home, without her, was believable for a busy oncologist. Any more and she'd raise suspicious eyes and question him. Any less and he felt...

...deprived.

Here is where he came on those nights he lied to Amber. To see the man he craved.

Wilson put the transmission in Park and climbed out into the wetness that was New Jersey in springtime. He stood, thinking, getting wetter. He thought about the insanity of it all. About the heady, undeniable thrill. And the satisfaction that thundered through his loins just imagining House under him, writhing, grabbing, sucking...

He felt himself already slaking his lust in his cell-fired need to touch his best friend in all the right places. It was a need neither of them really discussed. Or denied.

Wilson thought about the rightness of it when everything else in his life felt wrong.

His life with Amber was satisfying, after a fact. She felt safe and was good for him. He liked coming home to calmness and curves. Dinner together and jokes. Why the hell couldn't _that_ feelright?

Right was vulnerable when wrong was holding all the cards.

XXX

_**Silent, knowing, always, in time...**_

-

-

-

Wilson used his key. Invitations had stopped being necessary a while ago. Permission had ceased to matter. That he came. Always, that he came,...did.

Tonight he was tormented by it, but entered the apartment all the same and, without a word, shook the rain from his coat and hung it up on a hook. He wiped the water from his face with one cold hand and slipped off his suit jacket, laying it across the back of the couch. Wilson loosened his tie. Only then did he allow himself to look up and actually see where in the apartment House was.

"Didn't think you'd show tonight." Said House from behind his piano and began to plunk-plunk out a string of notes, a nameless tune that Wilson did not recognize.

"Why wouldn't I come?" Wilson answered/asked, wandering closer to the Baby Grand and the man protecting himself with it's heavy presence. "Just because you were an ass and said things you didn't mean?"

House still did not look up but just kept playing the same tune over and over. "Just because I didn't mean them doesn't mean they're meaningless."

Wilson wandered back to the couch and sat down. "You'll have to explain that one to me. How does one _mis_-interpret "You're a fool and a coward to stay with a woman who's so much like me! She'll ruin you, you idiot!"?" Wilson spread his hands. "Was that some kind of code that really means: "My blessing, Wilson. Be happy."?"

House, as he so often did, offered no further explanation. His silence made the room smaller and suffocating. Wilson sighed. _Wilson and House is company. Wilson and House and House's cold shoulder - a stifling crowd._

House stood and limped passed Wilson as fast as he was able, spitting out on his way to the bedroom, "Not tonight, Wilson. Go home."

But Wilson was too fast for him. He sprang to his feet and caught up to House in about three steps. Just in time to prevent House from slamming and latching the bedroom door. (After he'd been shot a bit of paranoia had set in and House'd had all the locks on his place doubled and sliding latches installed on all his inner doors).

"You are not going to lock me out! You are going to talk to me."

"Fuck you!"

Wilson shoved House against a wall and snarled in his face, "You do not get to shut me out whenever it gets uncomfortable."

House shoved back but he was rendered off balance when Wilson snatched away his cane and flung it across the room. House was forced to lean on the wall to stay upright."Get out! I don't want you here tonight!"

Wilson grabbed House's right hand from where he was using it to steady himself against the wall and held it in a vise-like grip, pulling it up and over his head. He did the same with the other hand until House was immobilized. House was red-faced furious at Wilson's manhandling. And equally ashamed of his helplessness. "Hey -- fucking let go!!"

But Wilson would hear none of it. Two sets of angry, determine hands fought for dominance until one achieved victory. Wilson smiled smugly, pressing his hips into House's, carefully avoiding jostling his bad leg until House quit squirming.

"I'm not leaving." Wilson whispered.

XXX

_**See how this love stays divine...**_

_**-**_

_**-**_

Wilson pressed his mouth over House's, kissing him savagely, swirling his tongue around House's bourbon flavored one. He ground his teeth against House's and hungrily devoured his lips, leaving pinkish bruising and getting red beard burn in return.

He held House's hands over his head, making House go on kissing him. Wilson's heart pounded in his chest and thrummed in his ears. His cock hardening and twitching at the excitement; at what lay ahead.

_Oh, yeah, this is how it is with House._ This is how it needed to be between them. Demanding, taking, each angrily forcing the other give in to what they both knew they eventually would anyway. It was masculine and unforgiving. Violent and exciting.

_God -- it was exciting! _Wilson began to snatch and tear at House's shirt, the buttons flying off when he gave up on his frustratingly slow progression of undoing them one by one. Then in one motion, he pulled House's T-shirt up over his head and let it rest, gathered and tight across the back of his neck. Wilson sucked and bit at House's exposed chest, taking tiny bites at his nipples and licking his skin.

House had stopped cursing and was kissing Wilson back now with equal rage and desire. His angry curses turned to groans of pleasure and need. "Oh, fuck, Wilson..."

"You want me?"Wilson whispered in his ear while simultaneously slowing his command, grasping hands until he was moving them over House's body like a sculpture checking for blemishes in the marble; loving fingers reading his fleshy surface by braille. "You want me, House?"

House lolled his head back against the wall, surrendering his throat to Wilson's famished mouth. "You, kn-know I d-"

Wilson didn't let him finish but ripped House's t-shirt off the rest of the way, releasing House's trapped hands. Wilson then ruthlessly attacked his belt, jerking it open, and hurriedly unhooking the waist button. Again he slowed down, giving time for House to get harder before lowering the fly. House was already hard against the confining material of his jeans.

Wilson paused and step-walked House to his bed, slipping his jeans off. Quickly shed his own clothing, he lay down on top of House, leaving the bedside lamp on.

Wilson resumed his demanding kisses, caressing and massaging his hands up and down House's sides, causing goose bumps to raise and House to inhale at the titillation. When Wilson sensed House was ready to burst, he expertly lubed up both their cocks and slid them back and forth, up and down between their abdomens until he heard the sound that always without fail made him orgasm obscenely - House's surrendering moan of pleasure. Every time House tried to stifle it, as though ashamed that someone had taken such control of him. Wilson brought him pleasure, and House feared that power.

_**Sleep. Here. Hoping, knowing, always, in time...**_

_**-**_

_**-**_

_**-**_

Wilson lay on top of him for a few more warm minutes before easing his weight off, rolling over to lie beside him and let the last twitching aches of orgasm recede into memory.

After a few moments of unusual quiet from House, "Stay the night?" He asked.

Wilson tensed. In their past sessions of love-making, he had seen the question in House's eyes once or twice but House had never said the words aloud until now. "You know I can't."

He could sense rather than see House's tiny answering nod. House struggled to get up. He retrieved his cane from the floor and hitched his way to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Wilson knew it was House's polite but gonna be rude about it way of telling him to get the hell out.

He dressed quickly, hoping the smell of sex wasn't too noticeable over the cologne he dabbed on. He kept a bottle of the brand Amber had given him for their two month anniversary at House's. On hand for afterward. House understood but had said he hated the smell of it. Wilson had given Amber a gold necklace and they'd had a great evening of dining, dancing and drinking until they stumbled to the bedroom, already naked and anxious to screw.

He'd avoided House that week out of guilt. Both ways. Both directions. Wilson's fucked up love. Small wonder he couldn't keep a marriage together.

Amber was expecting him. House was angry and hurt but wouldn't let him see it. And Wilson? He loved two people who loved him. "Loved" them. Like he loved a lot of things. He "loved" his job. He "loved" barbecued steak. He "loved" his dog and his new black suite too. He loved House. He loved Amber.

Neither of them really understood the raw deal they were getting.

_**and I'm waiting..**_

When House heard the apartment door close, he left the bathroom and walked to the living room, wearing only pajama bottoms and a tee-shirt. He poured a tumbler of whiskey and watched out the window as Wilson's car drove away in the rain. House sat down and drank the entire two inches at once. Then poured another.

Wilson could have his Cut-throat-bitch. House drank half the bottle because he didn't care a lick what Wilson did. He went to bed drunk and in pain because Wilson could go fuck himself! _Go home to your safe, domestic me! _

_And don't come back._

_**XXX**_

_**when I return to her I find...**_

-

-

-

Amber was in bed but not asleep when Wilson entered their bedroom in his sock feet.

"I know you don't go to the hospital on these nights when you're late."

Wilson sighed and switched on a dim lamp. She sat up and stared at him. She was wearing a thin white cotton tee-shirt. Amber had nice firm little breasts. "Why bother lying? You go over to House's."

"Because I know you don't like him at all." Wilson sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his socks and pants. Tossing them across a few feet of empty space to a lined laundry basket, adding his shirt and underwear. He crawled in beside her naked. "But he's my best friend. That's not going to change." _That's not going to change... _It was a safe enough lie. But a lie.

_-_

_-_

_**flowers of evil in my mind...**_

_-_

_-_

_"House -- I love Amber!"_

_"She's me! She's your safe, trouble-free, smells like flowers model of me!"_

_"No she isn't. She does, in case you need reminding, have her own ideas, personality and tastes. Tastes which do not run to drugs, alcoholism and being an ass to everybody."_

_"You like those things about her?"_

_"Yes!"_

_"Then why the hell do you keep coming over here? And I mean that both ways."_

Amber felt soft in his arms. She was small and warm and gushy. All of her was soft. Not like House. Not muscles and anger, cursing and clutching hands pulling him closer and closer, hungry mouth swallowing his own. Stubble burn and moans and mouth open for more tongue and blue, god-oh-so-fucking-blue eyes rolled back in his head in helpless wanting for Wilson. No one but Wilson...

_-_

_-_

_-_

_**and i'm waiting...**_

End Part One (there will only be 2 parts to this)

XXX

_**FIRE IN THE HEAD**_

_**you stay silent, knowing, always in time  
see how this love stays divine  
see how this love stays divine  
(x2)**_

sleep here  
hoping, knowing, always in time  
see how the love stays divine  
see how the love stays divine  
this is the way 

_**step inside**_

(chorus)  
and i'm waiting  
when I return to her I find  
and i'm waiting  
flowers of evil in my mind  
and i'm waiting  


XXX


	2. Chapter 2

A FIRE DIVINE

Part II

By GeeLady

Summary: Love rages..._This will probably be the only FILK I will ever write. But this song fits W/H so well... ("The Tea Party" is a Canadian rock alternative band who put out five outstanding CD's, and a couple so-so ones. Like all great things that come to an end, they are split up. Jeff Martin was, IMHO the genius behind the band. A musical prodigy (musician, writer, singer, & total babe!!) who's rock music I miss terribly!)_

Pairings: Wilson/House & House/Cuddy (Cuddy-lite) Wilson/Amber (Amber-lite).

Rating: Slash. Good looking Male on Good looking Male. NC-17. Adult!

Based on the Song: _**Fire in the Head **__(The Edges of Twilight)_ By The Tea Party.

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_**and I'm waiting...**_

At Plainsborough it was business as usual the rest of the week. House entered his office a minimum of twice a day to gossip or consult him on his newest case. Like Wilson and he had never kissed, ripped each others clothes off or been naked together. House joked like he had no idea what Wilson's lips and cock felt like and Wilson laughed like House was not a sexual fire in his mind that refused to leave his body.

It was a play, or respective roles in something real. Make-believe life or make-like you believe the lie. Puppets in the true world, or real people in a cardboard set. Wilson had no idea how the light fell on them. No one had given him a script for something this painful.

When one day House asked Wilson to go to lunch - nothing unusual - Wilson made excuses - quite unusual since Amber was not at work that week. Wilson stared at the door after House had paused, nodded in that cock-sure way he had like he had been reading your mind and knew exactly why you was wussing out, and shut it behind him.

He'd given evidence to House over the years, a library stacked of tomes of goddamn evidence that he loved him. You don't hang around House for over a decade, become friends with and begin to care about him unless you quickly _loved_ him. Even if you had no idea why. House was difficult to love. House was rude and contentious. He was a crippled, lonely, bitter man who kept people just out of reach. House didn't like getting humanity on him. Love was part of that.

The most ironic part was Wilson knew how House felt about him. House loved him. Probably the only man he had ever loved enough to let down his guard now and then. To let undress him and make love to him. Even the sterile, purely physical release that was passing for intimacy between them.

Wilson had experienced so much caring in his life. Parents, girlfriends, three wives and now Amber who made no bones that she was crazy about him. Controlling kind of crazy. Ironically Wilson had reached the age of forty being unable to distinguish pseudo-love from the genuine article.

House, abused by a father who'd loved him, betrayed and abandoned by a woman who'd loved him, shut up in his dim apartment, seemed to understand exactly what the genuine article was. He knew it so well because of experience with it's opposite; enough, Wilson supposed, that House had learned the difference.

House did not tolerate fake love. House had plenty of experience with the bull shit stuff. He'd come to recognize that all to well.

_Which kind am I offering? _

_If it was real, which Wilson assumed House thought it was real - then House was right in wanting it, even if it was coming from a pretty screwed up guy. _

_Or is mine the fake stuff? And if, so, why is House tolerating it? _

_**dancing with fire on the edge  
and I'm waiting...**_

**XXX**

Friday night arrived - bowling or drinking, or bowling and drinking night out with House. Actually they had the weekend because Amber would be at her parents in New York. Wilson had House for the entire two and a half days. But not for bowling.

Wilson finished up paperwork and daily rounds, tingling with anticipation. Despite House's dismissal the previous get-together, he had seemed as usual all week. Which was great. Wilson would figure things out between them. He loved House. Of course he did. Hadn't he proved it enough over the years --he almost went to _jail _for him didn't he? Later House had claimed he'd done that out of guilt for ratting him out.

Thinking about it for a while, Wilson had to concede that yes, perhaps a small part of it had been guilt.

Wilson straightened his desk and shook away the memories and the currents doubts. It was going to be a fun weekend -- House would give him the time to-

-House entered his office without knocking as was his habit. He didn't say a word, only walked straight to his desk and held out his hand. "Key."

Wilson looked at the hand in confusion. "Huh?"

"My key." House repeated. "I want it."

"Oh." Wilson fished it out of his pocket and slipped it off his key ring. "What's up?"

"I'm busy this weekend."

Wilson didn't understand. But he was disappointed. Maybe House's parents were paying him an impromptu (and unwanted) visit. "Okay. Parents staying over?"

"Nope."

"Then why are you busy and why the key?"

"I'm going to be busy _not_ being busy with you."

Wilson felt the stabbing unspoken implication - _ever again_.

"Are you- are you ending our little..._dates_?" He didn't know how else to describe their regular rut sessions. Wilson felt a something else course through him - jealousy - at a new thought:" Had House _met_ someone?

"If that's all they were, sure. I'm going to be busy from now on _not_ being your convenient but undervalued mistress."

Wilson swallowed. It felt much worse than he thought it would. Much worse. "So, we're,...you and me, our,...is over? We're done?"

House gave him a strange look. Blank face but put there with great effort. So blank it was a mask. "In every way."

Stunned was how Wilson felt at that. Disbelieving. "You're ending the friendship _too_?!"

"No, I'm ending the sexual affair, the friendship is just...collateral damage."

Wilson couldn't speak for a moment. This was...terrible. This was unfair. It _hurt! _"I can't believe this. You're punishing me because I'm confused about...how I feel,.."

"This'll make it easier for you to figure out."

Wilson stood, his eyes tore a path to House's. "House, I lov-"

"Shut up!" House barked. "You have no business saying that, without at least learning the language first."

House meant it, he was really going to... "So, you _don't_ love me then?" Wilson turned House's words back on him. The three words from the hospital bed the day of House's near-death experiment. The words House had said clearly and lucidly and Wilson had heard benignly and casually accepted. It was only a few weeks later that House put his words where Wilson's mouth was that their full and truthful meaning became abundantly clear.

House's voice, for the first time since entering the room, lost his cold delivery. He looked miserable. "I love you." The three words once more only this time they left House's lips and fell to the floor between them like dust particles, without getting anywhere near Wilson. They meant something to the speaker, but were a jumble of terrifying emotions to the hearer who's heart seemed incapable of interpretation.

"I love you." House said again."Just not so I'll let myself be used anymore."

Wilson was feeling a desperation swelling in his guts. This was really it. This was an end he never, even once considered would arrive. Never. He was always the one people expected would shake off the troublesome House. Someday. Everyone else expected that too. Wilson was the loyal, endurance extra ordinaire pal.

_House_ was the insufferable ass.

"This is nuts! We've been friends for fourteen years."

"And fuck-buddies for a while too, don't forget." House moved to the door. "See ya'."

"House, wait- "

But House wasn't prepared to listen anymore. "Why do you have a problem with this? Go home to my Nair-loving duplicate and turn her into me. All you have to do is keep fucking her but stop showing her in any other way that you love her. You'll turn her into me in no time. She'll be a perfect me." House pocketed the key and turned to door. House tossed his final word over his shoulder on his way out, "What is it you think you've lost?"

_**and I'm waiting...**_

**XXX**

_**When I return to her I find**_

Amber chopped lettuce and cucumbers, tossing them into a bowl. Roasted pepper and Italian dressing would go good with a simple tossed green salad and ginger-fired chicken breast. Whoever got home first made dinner. It was a rule. James seemed okay with it. When he lived with House, he did all the cooking, dishes, clean up and the man's laundry to boot. House was a brilliant diagnostician and a first class teacher. But he was a lousy room-mate and a second class friend. He used people.

James deserved more.

"Hey." James said as he entered the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek. With a knife in her hand, she didn't turn her head. He perched on a kitchen/bar stool and watched her prepare.

"House broke up with me."

Amber turned, not only at the words but the phrasing. "What?"

"House ended our friendship today."

James looked like a man with shell-shock. Breaking up with the only man who could stand him was only the weirdest of the recently weird things House had done. "Why?"

Wilson was caught unawares at the question. Stupidly, he hadn't prepared a plausible lie. "We haven't been seeing eye to eye recently. House...he's,..I think he's trying to give me space to build my relationship with you."

"That's bull shit."

Already Amber knew House pretty well.

"There has to be another reason." She hit on the very thing Wilson was thinking. "Maybe he's punishing you for spending so much time with me? That's sounds more like his brand of juvenile manipulation."

Wilson thought so too. And House was hurting because Wilson couldn't decide if e was good enough to love...forever-like. Good enough to _fuck_. No wonder the man was angry.

"What are you going to do?"

Wilson looked at her. Did he love her? _Yes._

Did he love her the way he loved House?_ To a degree._

Did she burn in him like a fucking forest, lighting his way through every day, heating up his cells, poaching his cock in heat, making him insane with lust? Did she make him laugh with that long-time intimate knowledge of the tiniest things. He had seen the micro-delicacies of House -- the most unique and interesting and funny and moral - yes moral - man he had ever known.

House did what he thought was right. Even if it cost him his job. Or jail time. Or if it cost other's their comfort. He abused his body, he was a jerk to his friends, he dismissed people, he loathed sentiment and laughed at earnest optimism.

Yet beside that, incomparably towering over it, was a man who refused to sell a billions-for-profit drug just because his boss demanded him to. He refused to cop to a plea bargain for something he didn't do just to keep his job and boss happy and protect the little corner of life he had carved out. House told people what he thought, even if it was the truth they didn't like hearing. Even if the truth would hurt. Lying to gain a friend or an hour of pussy is no different than making an enemy or blowing his nose into a tissue.

To House, nothing seemed to beat feeling right about his own actions, even if they went against the herd. Nothing was as correct as the best outcome; the result that made sense. For House, morality meant: screw lying to save feelings or position or face -- without life (and in some cases without truth) position, face and feelings didn't exist and therefore didn't matter.

Love in words was a fart in a wind storm. House made Wilson see things and think about reasons unlike anyone else throughout his life. House made him look at himself and question. House expected no great change, just honesty. _He doesn't care if I bang together a new me. If I'm fucked up, all he wants if for me to admit it. _

Even with her loving lips and, long legs and soft kisses, who was Amber against that?

_Not even in the ballpark. Not even in the same goddamn league. _

House was a sport all his own. He was challenge at the fucking breakfast table. House was a adventure. He was a man alone in his time. Wilson felt his cock twitch and grow just at the thought of him. Fuck the man for being so imperfectly_ right _for him. "I don't know. I don't want to lose House." Wilson looked at Amber as she stared at him. "I can't lose him."

XXX

"You're..." Wilson said into the phone.___What are you?_

_**flowers of evil in my mind...**_

"You're my best friend. I love you." Wilson said into the phone.

House, at the other end of the line, said, "So?"

"So please talk to me. Tell me what to do. House, I don't want to lose you but this is...hard for me. Can't you understand that? It's hard."

"Why?"

Wilson had not actually put the question to himself to any depth.

_Yes, why?_

"I,..I'm not sure. You scare the _shit_ out of me." Wilson blurted it out without even thinking about it. Unfiltered truth at last_._

"So does she." House reminded him. "Jesus, you admitted that much to Cuddy."

"You're so unstable. You shove metallic objects into light sockets. You inject yourself with tainted blood. You take drugs and drink too much. You faked cancer House. Faked cancer! Who the fuck does that? Why do that? Why?"

"Well, since you finally asked - because, had it worked, I would have been pain-free for a year."

Wilson came up short. "_That's_ why?" He squeaked. Not done just for the high or to fuck with someone or them. Not just for the thrill or to ease boredom or because some depression had screwed up his thinking. "Pain free?"

House said it like he was tired of explaining it. Like they were a bunch of idiots who couldn't help themselves, poor dears. They just kept forgetting he was in agony every fucking, cock-sucking, shitty-fied damn day of his life for years and years. "I'm _tired_ of being in pain."

Wilson felt, correctly, stupid. "I'm sorry."

"Doesn't matter. Will you keep prescribing for me or am I screwed that way too?"

So they were still officially broken up. "I love you."

"I know." House said, the rest was spoken soundlessly. "Well..?"

"I'll keep prescribing."

"Thanks."

Wilson hung up the phone. Amber called from the dining room, "Dinner."

Wilson walked into their normal dining room to eat his normal dinner with his normal girlfriend.

As his mouth chewed the food, House burned in his mind. A flame that never went out, scorching him.. House was...a human adventure; a wild ride of one. His face and mind ignited every thought. His crippled body electrified each cell within him. House's smell made him remember intimate times past and hunger for the times yet to come. Nothing boring or normal or routine about House. Nothing stale ever.

Amber passed him the garlic toast. "Maybe it's for the best." She said, swallowing.

_**Dancing with fire on the edge.**_

_**With this fire in the head...**_

XXX Part III soon!


	3. Chapter 3

A FIRE DIVINE

Part III

By GeeLady

Summary: Love rages..._This will probably be the only FILK I will ever write. But this song fits W/H so well... ("The Tea Party" is a Canadian rock alternative band who put out five outstanding CD's, and a couple so-so ones. Like all great things that come to an end, they are split up. Jeff Martin was, IMHO the genius behind the band. A musical prodigy (musician, writer, singer, & total babe!!) who's rock music I miss terribly!)_

Pairings: Wilson/House & House/Cuddy (Cuddy-lite) Wilson/Amber (Amber-lite).

Rating: Slash. Good looking Male on Good looking Male. NC-17. Adult!

Based on the Song: _**Fire in the Head **__(The Edges of Twilight)_ By The Tea Party.

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_**Hoping a guide will show the way...**_

_"Maybe it's for the best."..._

Wilson did not see House for several days. And then maybe in the Cafeteria, but only from across the room. Certainly not in his office where House used to venture for a consult or a mid-day gossip session.

And the occasional blow-job. God could that man give head.

But those things were not the stuff of memory. Not the important things; not the things that made him ache for missing him. Wilson missed the laughs and the endless manipulating House did to get extra Vicodin or a free lunch. As frustrating as those things had been, they also filled Wilson's life with meaning. House was needy in capitals.

It had taken the ending of their association to drive the point home though: As needy as House was, as much as he did really need someone, it wasn't only Wilson who could fulfill that role.

House needed, yes, but Wilson wasn't the only enabler in the sea.

Wilson came to understand something about himself after House had stormed out of his office several weeks ago, not looking back. Wilson needed too. And it was _House_ he needed. Julie, Bonnie, Amber, friggin' Joyce Brothers and Angelina Jolie rolled into one would not have fit the bill. Would not have filled the hole that had opened in him. No one fed his brain and soul like his used-to-be full time best friend and part-time lover.

House was his man-shaped-drug.

Amber was his escape from that admission.

It scared him; he and House. He could split with Amber, take on House full time, be the House-sitter everyone already assumed he was - move in - and then what?

Suppose it didn't last?

_**Hoping the rains will wash away...**_

Wilson looked outside his office windows. They were streaked with wet from the morning rain. If he just turned his head a little, he would see House in his office at his desk. His back would be to him, his leg would be propped up. He might be playing with his ball or responding sarcastically to something one of his employees said, shooting down their theories while polishing his own.

It really was disconcerting how a man, a crippled man, a drug-addicted, alcoholic, bitter, lonely, angry crippled man could exude such confidence in himself. House simply reeked of it.

Until you got him home and made him sit down and drink with you. Made him tell you things he never told anyone else. Like how when he was four, his mother had a mis-carriage and cried for days alone. Dad was over-sea's. Only the son at home to figure out how to comfort his twenty-five year old mother.

Or how his respected marine dad used to banish him to the yard for the night if he talked back or failed in some other way to be the good military, acceptably tough son.

Or plunge him into a tub of ice-water for no fucked-up reason _ever _good enough.

Or House might spill, after several more whiskey's, that he had never stopped loving Stacy until she decided to leave her husband for him. That would be abandonment twice on her part. And if twice, chances are there'd be a third time. House was too tired, he said, and too old to take a chance on flimsy commitment again.

House mentioned, after six whiskey's, that he probably had only once chance left. He was almost fifty. He was a cripple. He lived in pain. He was drug addict, an alcoholic and an unfeeling jerk.

And House had looked very closely at Wilson that night and put the question out there: Who would have him? Who would want him? Who _else?_ House had asked.

"I don't know, House." A very dense Wilson had said and then steered his very drunk friend to his bed, removed his shoes and left House's apartment, mute and confused.

Wilson then went home and thought about it all night. And all week as House avoided him and didn't answer his messages or return his calls.

Then one day, as Wilson was kissing Amber in the door of his office, House had come around the corner and abruptly stopped when he saw them. Stared at her. Then at Wilson, his eyes lingering on Wilson's arms around her waist, his fingers gently caressing her skin beneath her untucked blouse.

Wilson had finally tore his lips from Amber and looked at House. For a fleeting instant, he had seen, the only word that had come to mind to sum up the expression on House's face had been:

Misery.

Suddenly Wilson understood all of House's drunken confessions. All his pouring out his heart. All his strange looks and odd avoidance. And his lonely looking eyes whenever they fell across Wilson as they passed in the hall, or when House thought Wilson wasn't looking back.

One night at about three in the morning, Wilson drove to House's apartment, entered, walked to House's bedroom, switched on the bedside lamp and asked House: "Are you in love with me?"

House, after blinking the sleep from his eyes, had turned white. But he hadn't said no. In fact, he didn't say a word. He just sat up, staring at Wilson with terrible eyes of hope and terror.

Finally, "What do I lose if I say yes?" House had answered.

Wilson had stared back. "The same if you were to say no. You'll lose nothing."

So House nodded.

And Wilson kissed him. Then they made love.

After, Wilson went home to Amber feeling wonderful and horrible. Feeling right and wrong. A trusted boyfriend and a homo-slut.

This was the world he had created when he allowed House to love him. And when he decided he loved House back, but not _quite_ in the same way.

He loved House. He _did_ love him. He just didn't possess the guts to tell him truthfully. Explain it fully. Admit he was selfish and wanted both worlds. The exciting, heady familiar, marvelous one with House who drove him mad.

And the safe, comfortable, conventional condo-cooperative-and-Latte' life he had set up with Amber.

His uncertainty had hurt House. Had taken them to the edge of never speaking again.

But his own cowardice...

Might ruin them both.

_**Dancing with fire on the edge,**_

_**With this fire in the head...**_

**XXX**

Two nights later, Cuddy called with news that broke out all over Wilson's body in a terrified sweat. House had been admitted to Plainsborough.

"Why?" Wilson croaked into the phone.

"Alcohol poisoning."

Wilson replaced the receiver and started dressing. Amber stirred. "What's wrong? Where are you going?"

"To the hospital. Something's wrong."

"What's wrong?"

Strangely he was irritated with her. "House." Was all Wilson said.

Amber rolled over, content in her domestic security. "Oh, _god!_ What's new?"

XXX

Wilson stood by as Cameron and a nurse performed a stomach lavage on House and pushed fluids into his veins. "My god. How did he get this way?" Cameron looked to Wilson, expecting an answer.

Wilson could guess. "I don't think it was on purpose." _Fuck me if it was._

"Well, you know all we can do is keep him on oxygen, fluids to re-hydrate him. We'll do a urine analysis and if his kidneys need a flush, we'll begin dialysis." Cameron shook her head at her former boss. "What the hell would drive him to nearly drink himself into oblivion?" Cameron looked to Wilson again as though he knew all the answers to the mystery that was House.

Wilson wondered if his mind was a flashing neon sign -- _I broke his heart. I broke his heart... _

He just listened to House's gurgled breathing and watched his chalk-white face. _Did you nearly drink yourself to death over me? _At the moment Wilson couldn't help but think that House's judgement was a little skewed.

As much pain as House seemed to be in - and Wilson was not thinking of his leg - it didn't match the agony Wilson felt as he watched over his man-drug most of the night. House might have died. _And for a shitty reason. _

When all was quiet in the hallway, and only the night nurse was left on duty, Wilson walked to the bed where House lay and kissed his head. He cried quietly for a few moments and then left to go make and end to his own life.

To one of them.

**XXX**

_**This is the way...**_

Amber did not take it well.

Wilson packed a couple bags with a sick heart while she ranted and raved and made references to his masculinity in general and House's jewels specifically.

Wilson's ears rang with insults as he walked to his car through the worm disturbed puddles. A full moon shone down into the shallow pools, lighting the way in bits and starts.

Maybe he was moon mad? He stopped by House's apartment and dumped his suitcases in the bedroom, then drove back to the hospital.

House was semi-conscious. By the time Wilson fetched a coffee for himself from the cafeteria and ate a muffin (even love has to sometimes wait for starvation), he was back in House's room and House was more alert. Alert enough to see Wilson standing there in the dim light from the hallway. Alert enough to turn his head away. Whether in anger or shame Wilson could not tell.

"Hey." He said to House.

House coughed.

"Look. I,...I've left Amber. We're done, she and I."

House turned his head then and looked at him. He reached up and removed his oxygen mask. His voice was cold. "You want a medal?"

Wilson paused in the words he had planned on saying. Seemed they might not be listened to just then. "Um,..I should have told you the truth." Wilson stuck his hands in his pockets and walked a bit closer. "I was scared, House."

"Yeah." House said, sighing. "It was a cake-walk for me, you know. Telling my best - and only - friend in the world that I loved him - and risk losing him - was the easiest thing I've ever done. It was a friggin' walk in the park."

Wilson felt himself flush with shame. "I guess I never considered how hard it must have been on you." Wilson stepped up to the bed. "But I'm ready now. I do love you. I wasn't in love with Amber, I was in love with ,..I don't know really. A scene on a postcard? Happy visions of picket fences and barbecues?"

House seemed unimpressed. "You're ready, huh?" House's voice was almost mocking. "Good for you. Maybe I'm not anymore." House turned his face away again. "Maybe I don't want a sometime-y string-puller who only starts reeling in when he thinks he's maybe let out a little too much slack in the line."

Wilson was dumbstruck. "House. I know I screwed up-"

"-Congratulations. Now deal with it."

Wilson felt his stomach sink like a cannon ball into the sea. "I broke up with Amber for you." He said. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Sure. It means you can't stand to be alone. It _doesn't_ mean you're in love with me."

"House-"

"-think she'll take you back?"

Wilson stared, his heart pounding. House was psychic. He had to be to know that was precisely what Wilson had just considered_**. **_But he had to deny it. "that's not what-"

"-Liar." House shook his head, bit his lip. "Why can't you just tell me the truth? Why is saving face more important than honesty?"

"What's your problem..?"

"It's _your _goddamn problem. It's been your fucking problem ever since I've known you. You can't bear to be seen to fail. Your reputation as a great catch is worth more to you than actually _being _a great catch."

"Well, you're one to talk. You're no great catch."

The words had to have hurt him. Yet House just shook his head again. "I know I'm not. But I'm okay with it. And because I'm okay with it, I'm honest about it. You haven't been honest in even one of your dozen relationships."

"What do you want from me House?" Wilson was casting around in the emotional dark, trying to make sense of House's words ands his own feelings and coming up empty for both.

"I want you to be honest with me. Don't say you love me unless you actually do." House's eyes took on that same sadness again. But resigned, like he knew it was hopeless. And he was okay with that. "But you won't. You were already thinking of running back to her not seconds after I indicated I was rejecting you."

"Well, weren't you?"

"No."

Wilson reeled.

"I just needed you to think I was." House sighed heavily. "I had to know." He closed his eyes. "I got my answer."

_**Step inside...**_

**XXX**

**(Part IV soon! Promise!)**


	4. Chapter 4

A FIRE DIVINE

Part IV (final)

By GeeLady

Summary: Love rages..._This will probably be the only FILK I will ever write. But this song fits W/H so well... ("The Tea Party" is a Canadian rock alternative band who put out five outstanding CD's, and a couple so-so ones. Like all great things that come to an end, they are split up. Jeff Martin was, IMHO the genius behind the band. A musical prodigy (musician, writer, singer, & total babe!!) who's rock music I miss terribly!)_

Pairings: Wilson/House & House/Cuddy (Cuddy-lite) Wilson/Amber (Amber-lite).

Rating: Slash. Good looking Male on Good looking Male. NC-17. Adult!

Based on the Song: _**Fire in the Head **__(The Edges of Twilight)_ By The Tea Party.

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_**Hoping a guide will show the way...**_

Amber refused to speak to him. House wouldn't discuss them or their non-relationship. Wilson had to remind himself that he and House were not even friends anymore_. _How did everything get so fucked up so quickly?

XXX

_**Hoping, knowing, always in time...**_

After forty-eight hours forced hospital stay, Cuddy released House and told him in no uncertain terms that he was on her shit list. "What the hell were you doing? Trying to drown your sorrows? Or _kill_ them? You could have died!"

House left her office saddled with extra clinic hours and wondering why Cuddy couldn't come up with a more creative punishment than him scraping crust off someone's wee-wee. Contrary to everyone's assumption, he hadn't tried to kill himself. He had simply drunk way too much, becoming so drunk that his brain had crossed the line where reason or memory said it was high time to switch to water.

At least he'd woken up once with enough intact mental capacity to call an ambulance.

He had not called Wilson. Not this time. Wilson was probably grateful for that. _See? Don't say I never get you anything. _The problem with Wilson was, he had no idea what a catch he was. He was so not in the know of his own value that he basically rented himself out to people. Bonnie got him until the boredom set in -- hers or Wilsons. Most likely both.

Then Amber who, though she was a conniving cut-throat, at least recognized Wilson for what he was. She knew a good thing when she saw it.

Wilson wasn't a user or a slut. He'd just grown up being shown how to polish himself to a high shine. No rust must show. Reflect the sunshine even brighter than the source. Be the dark haired boy next door whom every girl -- and some boys -- would want to bring home to mom.

No one can keep up appearances forever. It's too exhausting, too perfect for anyone's psyche. It was a lesson Wilson had yet not learned. Wilson wanted everyone to love him. Wilson wanted to love everyone.

What Wilson really needed was a taste of the real thing. He would never be in a healthy relationship until he got it. But Wilson was too mired down in the fake shit to see straight. He was too much a habitual lover instead of an actual one.

House wanted to shake him up. Show him what it _could_ be. Or bring to his attention that it was what Wilson wanted. When it came to learning anything about himself, Wilson was by far the thicker man.

XXX

Wilson stuck his head into Cuddys office. "You wanted to see me?"

Cuddy motioned him in and held out a file to him. "New oncology care nurse."

"Another one?"

"A new one. Rotation in and out's a revolving door on the cancer ward, you know that."

He did.

"She'll need the tour, talk, your pager number, the usual."

Wilson took the file and turned to leave.

Outside Cuddys office, standing by clinic admitting was House.

He was talking to a younger, smooth faced good looking blonde man. A doctor man, judging by the physician's coat he was wearing and stethoscope hung around his neck. "Who's House talking to?"

Cuddy briefly glanced up, then went back to her work. "New guy. Doing a rotation in the clinic. Doctor Van Bruen."

Wilson thought he was suddenly standing on foreign soil when saw House actually laugh a little at something the blonde doctor had said. Van Bruen was standing quite close to House. Closer than House would normally allow by a total stranger.

Unless they weren't strangers.

Wilson tried to look closer. House was dressed as usual. The sky-blue shirt over black tee-shirt and black jeans. The combo Wilson always thought made House look sexiest. Still the face fuzz and the barely tamed hair. Yet, he appeared smoother in posture. And, while still clutching his cane with his right hand, his left was in his jeans pocket in an almost GQ-ish pose. At the combination the implication hit him and Wilson felt his heart leap to his throat.

Had House..._groomed_?

And then there was Van Bruen leaning in and talking. And in between talking he would touch House. Just a finger or two and just quickly. Talk and touch, just on his forearm. Talk and touch. Talk and touch...

And then there was Houses small smile.

And his out of character laugh while standing with a stranger. May as well be watching a late night sci-fi, such was the solar distance between Houses usual behavior and _that._

Behind him, Cuddy loudly cleared her throat. Wilson took the hint and quickly vacated her office, brushing passed House and his new...whatever the guy was. They didn't seem to have noticed him at all.

Wilson retreated to his office, forgetting all about the new nurse patiently waiting for him in the cancer ward. The thought that House might be setting his sights elsewhere. _Anywhere..._

Wilson suddenly felt like a leper. Isolated from human contact. Unwanted. Unloved.

Another strange new sensation had sprung up in his chest. A weird, tight, aching. _Jesus._

_Oh my god._ House might really be moving on.

Wilson felt his eyes water and his strength ebb from his limbs. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

He loved the man and had showed it by taking him as a stand-by. Way to go making the man feel special. Wilson felt nauseous when it hit him like a piano that he had been treating House like one of his wives. _Ex_-wives. Pronouncements of love like bouquets in a display window. _Displays_ of love like a john needing a quickie.

XXX

_**Dancing with fire on the edge...**_

_**-**_

_**-**_

That night Wilson couldn't help but follow House. He had to know if this new guy was Houses new guy.

House rode his bike to a local bar, parked and entered. Wilson followed, walking into the dim, hops odor-ed atmosphere and made a visual search for House. He found him sitting by himself in a booth at the back of the establishment, one nearest the rest-rooms.

Wilson knew why. House didn't like to have to walk very far if he could help it.

Blonde boy-toy probably would not realize that, or even care.

Wilson cared. He cared like hell. Even those little things, as big an ass as he'd been, those little things House needed, mattered to him. Because they meant something to House, they meant even more to him.

Heart beating yet cracking to pieces, Wilson took a table far enough away to not been seen but close enough to observe. Sure enough, the blonde nightmare showed and slid into the booth, sitting his tight, twenty-nine year old ass opposite House. House right away ordered drinks and they drank them, talking together. Leaning in close, blondie laughed and smiled a lot. House returned the laughter and smiles, but not quite as much. Wilson imagined the witty repertoire and suggestive jokes, each of their physical urges mounting.

Wilson could picture the scenario about to be played out. Blondie would have House back to his place and offer him another drink. Maybe music, maybe making out on his leather couch with the big cushions. Then he would lead a slightly inebriated House to his bedroom, undress him, turn down the sheets and fuck his brains out all night long.

Wilson couldn't take another minute of the mental self torture. He paid for his one drink and fled the bar.

His heart pounded, his stomach heaved and his dick was as hard as a rock. Not because of what he had seen or imagined between them but because of the memories of things he would never again have with House. Not his mind, heart or soul. Not his delightful, warm, masculine body.

Wilson wasn't worried about the physical side of his bodies reactions to this new, and most painful, turn of events, no matter how hard his poor heart hammered in his chest or how tight his chest felt.

The painful wake-up -- the awfulness -- had been his heart breaking.

Wilson got into his car but did not fire the engine. Instead he sat, trying to imagine a life without House in it and he couldn't. He had figured that, after a while, Houses anger would subside and the friendship would right itself. A spinning, wobbling top that finds its momentum again. But instead...

To never speak to him other than professionally, to never kiss him, touch him, feel his body pressed against his own. To experience the realization -- _finally you thick-headed self-serving idiot!! _-- that he loved House but would now never know first hand that revolutionary feeling _with_ House. That incredibly sad, terrifying, hope-ifying, awesome feeling...

What a terrible waste to spend the rest of your life knowing in full what you missed.

He had to fix this.

Wilson wondered if being sorry would be enough.

XXX

_**See how this love stays divine...**_

_**-**_

_**-**_

When Wilson showed up at Houses office the next morning, the Van Bruen adonis was there, standing before Houses desk, talking to House. House was sitting at his desk and Wilson could not see him for blondies broad shoulders. Wilson almost kept walking but...fuck it!

He walked in, skirted the blonde bombshell (not even looking at him), and addressed House directly. Stammering out some excuse to talk to House by himself he said, "Need you. Consult."

A half lie but what was new?

House looked up at him, thinking a moment. Wilson imagined House was considering which of a dozen different ways he might tell him to go fuck himself. But House was still a doctor and they still worked in the same hospital.

"Sure." House said and nodded to the kid. "I'll call ya'."

The kid raised surprised eyebrows, scribbled down what to Wilson looked like a cellular phone number and handed it to House. House slipped it into his top desk drawer.

House grabbed his cane and followed Wilson to his office. Entering, House said, "Well, what dying baldy needs me?"

Wilson took one breath and grabbed House by the arms, shoving him back up against the door he had just shut. He planted a hard, insistent, hungry kiss on Houses gaping mouth.

House put up with Wilson's soft lips for a few seconds (giving Wilson a glimmer of hope) before remembering he was mad as hell at his ex-lover-ex-friend. He shoved him back "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Wilson stayed back. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

House looked genuinely confused. "I already know what you're doing. You're acting like a selfish ass."

"No more than you!" Wilson could feel the sharp cut of the betrayer's blade between his shoulders. "You talk about me not being able to commit but not a month goes by and you're dating some blonde bulging biceps bimbo straight out of med school. You're a hypocrite House."

House stared at him like he had grown a second head. "You mean Junior back there?" House threw Wilson such an angry and humored and contemptuous look. "You idiot! I'm not dating him. He's pimping for a _job_."

Wilson felt all his anger drain away like rain water down a street grate. "He-he was just...looking..?"

"For a job. A fellowship. Remember? I have those."

Wilson almost stumbled to his desk and sat down hard in his chair. For a few seconds he couldn't think of anything to say. Then, "But, I saw you and him talking, he touched you, you drank together in a bar-"

"-you followed me?"

Wilson possessed humility enough to look guilty. "Yeah. I thought you and he, I thought you were dating him."

House thought of a number of things to say to Wilson, none flattering. But he didn't. He just sat down opposite him and stared at his clueless idiot of a friend. "He bought me drinks, I took advantage of that. He guessed correctly that I was gay so he touched me 'cause he was a pimp pimping for a job. He was in the clinic because he was following me around trying to impress me with his wit. He was funny. Just not much of a doctor. And he gave me his number 'cause he thought I wanted to call him - which I _didn't_."

Wilson saw how he had misinterpreted all of it.

"Which begs the question: Why would you assume I was already sleeping with someone else? I'm not the one with the loose "cannon"."

Wilson felt somehow, even worse than before he understood what was happening. Not that it mattered. He had just made himself the sorriest ex-boyfriend. Even _he _wouldn't go out with himself. Setting the words adrift, "I couldn't stand seeing you with someone else."

House sighed and rubbed his eyes and face. He felt sorry for Wilson. Of course, he wanted to forgive and forget this whole last month but he couldn't take chances anymore. "Welcome to my world." He said very softly.

Wilson heard and accepted the words, allowing them entry into his, up until now, carefully guarded heart. For the first time in his life, he had felt heart-break. Now, maybe he would understand how it felt when it healed. "I'm sorry."

House stood up. "Come on, buy me lunch."

Wilson followed House out, heavy of soul but lighter of step.

XXX

_**This is the way...**_

_**-**_

_**-**_

After lunch, House walked Wilson to his office but stopped at the door. Wilson turned around. "Um, by the way, I actually did need you for a consult. File's in my desk."

House nodded. "Oh." He entered, closing the door.

Without warning Wilson grabbed House from behind, spun him and pressed him up against the wall, holding him there with his own body and capturing his mouth. Wilson's breath turned heady and urgent and he tore at Houses clothes, just carefully enough to not pop the buttons on his shirt or tear the fabric (House had to work later). He made him shed his jacket, shirt and cane which clattered to the floor.

Wilson took his own shirt and tie off, turned House around so his backside was against the desk and slowly made him lie down across papers, pencils, erasers, whatever!

Wilson swallowed Houses tongue and sucked on his neck, eliciting a soft groan from House. Wilson caught sight of that throat when House lay his head back and sucked at Houses skin like a starving vampire. "Fuck, I've missed you." Wilson whispered into his ear.

Wilsons cock was rock hard. He wanted to do House until next week! But that's not he had planned. He wanted to give House a home-coming present and the thought made Wilson's cock wet with pre-cum. _God, House is sexy --_ _fuck me! _He could hardly stand the wait.

Wilson wanted to make it slow and hot but he was too dizzy with lust for that. House was going to a get an office quickie. Wilson unzipped Houses jeans and slid them and his boxers to his knees. He took a moment to drink in the sight of a nearly all naked House lying on his desk and for all intents and purposes, _helpless_. House did pull off sexy and helpless so well.

Wilson, supporting himself on his forearms, got his face right down into House and swiftly took his hardening cock into his mouth, swallowing deeply and hungrily. He sucked all the way down until he nearly gagged. But pulled back and then, using his fist to increase the pressure and pleasure, using every trick in the book he sucked House until he was squirming and panting and moaning for it.

Once House was at orgasm, Wilson caught up his mouth with his own again and swallowed the groans and gasps of Houses violent come.

After what seemed a long time, Houses hips stopped bucking and he lay back like a rag doll.

Wilson lay his weight down on him and kissed his lips tenderly, talking to him in whispered, atomic words. "I love you. I fucking love you, you sexy goddamn son-of-a-bitch. I love your mouth and your body and especially your tasty cock. I can hardly control myself around you and that sweet cock of yours, I fucking _love it _so much!_ Oh, god, _House, I want you forever. I love you, I love you..."

House sighed.

Wilson lifted his mouth off of Houses neck and stared down at him, little swirls of salted worry shining in his dark irises's. "D-do you...love _me_?"

Oh the _fear_ in those three words.

House stared back, his flushed face back to neutral. Wilson's little office treat had left him exhausted. He looked steadily into Wilson's eyes, his own inscrutable, until Wilsons worry lines deepened around his eyes. Until he looked on the edge of his newly built hope collapsing all around him.

Then House, when he knew Wilson was as ripe as he'd ever be, reached up and kissed Wilson back. "You're an idiot, you know that? Of course I love you." Then he smiled a little. "I've missed you too. Now hand me my damn pants."

-

-

_**...step inside...**_

-

-

END


End file.
